


New Morning

by the_pen_is_mightier



Series: waking up to you [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Gentle Crowley, M/M, Softness, They love each other, aziraphale has trouble accepting affection, patient Crowley, they're soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-12-01 22:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20915396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: Aziraphale instinctively deflects Crowley's declarations of love. When they wake up beside each other, Crowley pushes him to finally hear them.





	New Morning

Crowley woke facing him. They’d gone to sleep on their backs, staring up at the ceiling and both a little in awe of the enormity of the day they’d had - Heaven and Hell, the Ritz, the world, gulping down the rest of Aziraphale’s vintage wine and laughing and reveling in their freedom like oversized teenagers, _feeling_ like teenagers - but at some point in the night they must have drawn together, chests pulling toward each other like magnets. Crowley opened his eyes to see his angel’s face in large before him. 

His heart leaked something warm up into his throat. Aziraphale had never looked so relaxed, so devoid of strain or nerves or even excitement - so content. His eyes were shut loosely, and his lashes looked like delicate strands of light in the hazy dawn filtering in through their window. He was so beautiful like this. 

“Angel,” Crowley murmured. 

The lashes fluttered. Aziraphale made a small sound, the sound a kitten might make at a stroke behind its ears, and Crowley’s chest swelled. He reached out to brush an errant white curl from the angel’s forehead. 

“Angel. Psst.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes cracked open. For a moment they were lazy and unfocused, but slowly they came to rest on Crowley, and a smile tugged around the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth. Crowley let his hand stray down to rub his thumb gently over the curve of his lips. 

“Good morning,” came Aziraphale’s voice. 

He’d never seen Aziraphale quite so unrestrained. In every meal they’d shared, every nighttime conversation, every last-ditch attempt these past few days to save the world, there had always been a tension in his shoulders, a reserve in even his brightest of smiles. A fear. It was nowhere to be found, now. 

He wondered. Slowly he slid himself a little closer to Aziraphale under the sheets, until their breaths mingled together over their pillows.

“I love you,” he whispered, for the first time. 

Red burst onto Aziraphale’s cheeks. Like a reflex, like an instinct drilled into him over centuries, his hands went up to cover his face, hiding them, and he retreated to sink back into the bed.

“Hey,” said Crowley softly. Gently, oh so gently, he took Aziraphale’s wrists and eased them apart. “Hey. I said I love you.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes wouldn’t meet his. They fixed somewhere vaguely downward, as if the angel were examining his own pajamas, cataloguing their pattern. The blush was still obvious in his face, and something imprecise in his expression had clenched. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, calm. 

“Crowley, I - that’s - that is -”

“Shhh. You don’t have to say anything back.” He wouldn’t ask that of Aziraphale, yet - he already knew it was true, he already felt it in the angel’s closeness, in his trust, in the lengths he’d gone to these past days to stay with Crowley. He only wanted, more than anything, to see his angel accept the words from him. 

Aziraphale lifted his eyes to Crowley’s only slowly. There was embarrassment there, but, to Crowley’s immense relief, there was no fear. 

“No one’s told me that,” Aziraphale said quietly. “No one has since - well, no one has ever, I suppose.” 

Crowley shook his head, pulling Aziraphale even closer, so their foreheads rested together. “Angel, I’ve been telling you since Eden. You’ve just been too much of an idiot to hear it.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes squeezed shut again, as if unprepared for this onslaught. 

“Aziraphale, I love you.” 

“Crowley -”

“I love you.” 

Aziraphale shivered, and Crowley kissed the next words from his mouth, hands running into his hair again, tangling through his beautiful curls. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love -”

_“Crowley.”_ Aziraphale said his name in a gasp, like it pained him to say it, like it was unbearable to push him away with his tone. “Crowley, it’s too much - I don’t know what to do with all this. I don’t know how to -”

“You don’t have to do anything.” Crowley drew him against his chest, cupping his hand over the back of Aziraphale’s head and nestling Aziraphale’s face in the crook of his neck. “Just let me say it, angel, please. Let me give it to you. I love you.” 

Aziraphale shook against him. In another moment Crowley felt a dampness at his throat; tears were running from his angel’s eyes. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale murmured, and, at last, melted against him.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my content? Find me on tumblr @whatawriterwields!


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